


homecoming

by oculata



Series: the beginning of forever [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Post-Prison, Season/Series 10, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: It's Mickey's second day home from prison.





	homecoming

Mickey’s eyelids slid up as he surfaced from his slumber, a stripe of warmth peering in from between the mostly closed curtains and pressing onto his exposed arm. He was laying on his side, huddled up into himself, and he blinked a few times, the movement lazy and slow, to help himself connect back with reality. The bed was comfortable, and the sheets were soft—the cotton felt like a layer of cloud cuddling his skin. 

Even though the duvet was somewhat far from his face, he could still smell the detergent, and it made him smile—Ian had been using the exact same detergent for as long as he could remember, and the slightest waft of the scent always threw him right back into the feelings he experienced when they hugged and kissed. It was nice that, when he came home and fell straight onto the bed, he was instantly flooded with that familiar smell and the feeling that it gave him. He had been so consumed by the scent that he almost forgot that Ian was lingering behind him, packing away his small collection of items. He just kept smelling and sinking into the mattress and sheets, and by the time Ian had put a gentle hand onto his back, he was fast asleep.

But it was morning—very early in the morning if that blazing orange light seeping into the room was any indication—and Mickey could feel the comforting presence of someone laying down behind him. The mattress dipped behind his body in the most familiar way, and Mickey turned around to groggily but happily greet the person whom he knew was waiting behind him.

Mickey brought his arms up to his head as if they were butterfly wings and stretched out his body, a strained groan croaking out from his throat. He relaxed back into the mattress and looked over in the direction of Ian, still trying to fully unglue his eyelids from each other.

“Mornin’,” he rasped.

Ian was wide awake, looking at Mickey with eyes wide as saucers.

“You slept for fifteen hours,” Ian said.

Mickey kissed his teeth and rolled his eyes. He reached a hand up, dug the heel into his eye, and then dragged it down his face. He then tucked his hand back under the covers.

“Why’re you up?” Mickey asked, ignoring the statement.

“You’re never gonna believe this, but I was kinda bored after my fresh-out-of-prison boyfriend fell asleep as soon as he got home, so I went to bed at a reasonable time,” Ian said with a sarcastic arch of his brow. He started snickering when Mickey playfully shoved him with his elbow.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, filled only with one man looking at the other as they basked in the innocence and sweetness that came with morning.

Eventually, Ian spoke up, reaching out to graze his fingertips over Mickey’s forearm under the covers. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” he answered. “Way better than on that piece of shit in the joint. No fuckin’ back support.”

Ian rolled his eyes with a huff and a grin. “Okay, grandpa.”

Mickey jerked his chin at his boyfriend. “Come on, man, you know it’s true.”

Ian simply smiled and continued tracing his fingertips along Mickey’s skin, using the slightly raised veins to guide himself down to Mickey’s hand. Once reached, he laced their fingers together and began stroking the side of Mickey’s index finger with his thumb. He fumbled across the sheets until their foreheads were mere centimeters apart, them both laying on the same pillow.

“I’ll concede,” Ian said, his tone hushed.

“You better,” Mickey teased with a little chuckle.

It was a gentle moment. The light from the outside was losing its burning intensity. It was settling into a softer yellow color, illuminating their jawlines but dodging the cleft in Ian’s chin. There was a stillness in the room as they gazed at each other, drinking in each other’s existence and how the moment was shaped—they were home, together, under the heavy cover of a duvet, and free. 

Mickey kept looking over the sharp angles of Ian’s face, which usually appeared sullen and intimidating but were now relaxed and merely framed the tender gaze in his green eyes. Ian kept admiring Mickey’s soft skin and plush cheeks, the peach fuzz peppering them seeming to glow against the dark background of the wall. He looked beautiful, Ian thought.

Ian released his fingers from Mickey’s and began sliding his hand up Mickey’s arm and shoulder until he was cupping Mickey's neck and the back of his head, a thumb resting on his cheekbone. His body inched closer until their foreheads were pressed together. He rubbed his thumb over Mickey’s cheekbone, adoring how smooth and delicate his skin felt under the touch.

“I missed you,” Ian’s breath ghosted over the bridge of Mickey’s nose.

Mickey moved so that the tips of their noses were touching, and he stared into Ian’s adoring eyes as he slipped his own hand under Ian’s shirt and up his side, feeling the slight bumps of his ribs bouncing under him. Ian’s thumb kept tenderly stroking his skin, and Mickey’s cheeks began to feel a little hot.

“I missed you, too,” he returned.

“It’s nice having you back with me,” Ian continued, a grin crossing his face.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey challenged tauntingly. “You were ready to send me to hell when you saw the cell wasn’t clean ‘bout three weeks ago.”

Ian froze for a second. “Okay, admittedly, I was a little on edge.”

Mickey gave him a breathy giggle, his teeth wonderfully framed by his lips and his eyes shut so tight that they crinkled. He dropped his chin to his chest as he laughed, Ian’s hand following his movement down. He then slowly maneuvered Mickey's head back up to look at him, the two of them but a breath apart.

“I really, really missed you, Mick,” he whispered.

Mickey stared up at Ian for a few beats, lips parted and dough-eyed, before he wrapped his arm fully around Ian and pulled his boyfriend in close to him, pressing their lips together into a restful kiss.

They laid like that for a while, bodies molded together and enjoying the feel of each other’s lips. It was completely unlike the last kiss they had shared, the one right before Ian was released. That one had felt like a necessity rather than an indulgence in pleasure—they both had still been steaming with rage over an objectively petty argument that, at the time, had felt like the end of both them and the world. It had been impersonal and bordered on forced—a simple, tight peck that was over before either of them had realized it began. 

Now, though, they melted into each other. The frustration that loomed over them like a thunderous cloud had dissipated, and they relished in the feeling of how it felt to kiss when one was blissfully in love. Mickey moved his fingertips over Ian’s skin, hypnotized by how it moved like silk under his touch. He was so focused on how Ian’s skin felt that he was drawn into a reverie and the pucker of his lips failed. Ian nudged him a little with his body, and Mickey’s awareness of the situation returned, and they resumed the soft, tender kiss. They hadn’t kissed like that in so long—it felt so fresh, so mesmerizing, so peaceful that any vestiges of a lingering fight from their time in prison was cast away to the other edge of the planet.

Ian stroked his thumb over Mickey’s cheek, just as entranced by how smitten he felt all over again. Of course he had missed the softness of Mickey’s lips, but what he missed more was how gently Mickey kissed him. Mickey always moved about Ian’s being in a way that made Ian’s knees weaken every time—every kiss felt as special as the last. After day in and day out together, he had learned how to control that unconscious reaction of just softening into a pile of smitten mush at his boyfriend’s feet. However, the distance and short time apart regressed him far more than he could have ever anticipated—he was back to how he felt when they were just teenagers and kissing like they had invented the damn action. He found himself mentally thanking every deity there was that they were laying down because, had they not been, Ian was positive he would have lost feeling in his legs entirely.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, suspended in the sliver of sunlight peering into the room and the unspoken but shared feeling of how much they had missed this innocent intimacy. There was no replicating the warmth and comfort they felt with each other.

After a time, they pulled apart, hands still on each other. Mickey looked up at Ian through his eyelashes, and the smile that appeared on Ian’s face sent another surge of heat across Mickey’s cheeks. Mickey didn’t even realize he was smiling back until Ian moved his thumb down and rubbed at the raised corner of Mickey’s mouth.

“Do you want something to eat? What should we make?” Ian asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were worried that a volume any louder would shatter the moment. It was a silly fear—there was no breaking that sweetness.

“Banana pancakes?” Mickey suggested with an arch of his brow.

Ian’s smile hitched a little higher, and he nodded his head. “I’d love that.”

**Author's Note:**

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